


From Both Sides

by missema



Series: Iladia Shepard [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, Crush, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Trauma, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-17
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-05 12:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/406398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missema/pseuds/missema
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iladia Shepard and Admiral Hackett start an affair and recall what led them to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Unfolding

His hands were still shaking, ever so slightly, in a way that only he would notice when he boarded his transport ship.  It was enough to unnerve him, though he was sure that no one else would notice.  In fact, besides the few marines that saluted him, no one paid much attention to the Admiral as he hastily made his way to his quarters.  The scent that covered his body, that clung to his clothes wasn't his own and he wanted to lose himself in it, close his pale blue eyes and think about the last few hours without giving a damn about the future.  He couldn't understand what had just happened, and it made him feel out of control, confused.

Steven Hackett wasn't the kind of man that liked being out of control.

But he felt like absolutely everything had changed and he was prisoner, helpless to do anything but react.  How could he look Captain Hannah Shepard in the eye after having an affair with her daughter?

While his mind was confused, his body wasn't, and he still had the heady rush from just being near her.  Technically, Iladia Shepard wasn't under his command anymore, and what they'd done hadn't been against regulations, but damn if it didn't have the same forbidden feeling.  Perhaps it was their age difference, or the fact that they both knew she would return to the Alliance, sooner rather than later.  Whatever it was, it gave him a near shameful trill of excitement as he thought back on the curves of her tawny skin, the way her mouth looked as it formed his name on a gasp.

She was thirty-two years old.  Old enough, a grown woman, a fine officer - who made love like a hellcat in heat.

Thinking about her as he'd left her made a fresh wave of want ripple over him and Hackett stoically stifled the groan that was building inside of him.   This wasn't unexpected, this...development between the two of them.  Their acquaintance had been loaded for years, but Iladia was far too important, had too much potential for him to act on it earlier in her career.  It hadn't been him that acted first this time, but he could have, should have stopped it, ended it before it went too far.  He'd always though he'd regret an affair, anything that endangered his career, but Hackett found himself feeling almost freed, as if breaking that one rule had unleashed something hidden away within him.  Maybe it had, the disobedience causing him to examine thoughts that had been tucked safely away, ignored for long enough to make them bubble over.

The first time he remembered seeing her, really seeing her as more than just the Shepard kid, she was nineteen years old, dressed in her Alliance uniform, standing next to her mother at her father's funeral.  It was a strange thing to remember, but the moment was unexpectedly vivid, seeing Iladia standing next to Hannah. The two were like a study in contrasts, Hannah fair and freckled, short but still solid with muscle, her grey threaded red hair cut short.  Her daughter was much more like her father, tall and dark, though where her hair came from was a mystery to him.  It was long, too long, for the way she wore it, free flowing, the tresses hit just between shoulder and breast, though she wasn't bound by regulations today.  Ribbons were braided into her hair, a colorful contrast to the dark curls that hung past down like a silken curtain.

Hannah had been a shell of her usual self, the fight taken out of her as they laid her husband to rest.  He sympathized, though he'd never married or had children and could only understand her pain in the abstract.  Losing a spouse had to be something much more different than the loss he knew.  She accepted his condolences without really registering him, his face was just another in a long line of marines, a sea of Alliance dress blues.  He didn't get to speak to Iladia until later, still wearing his standard face of resigned contrition when he meandered over to her.

The ribbons in her hair were a bright green, white and red, framing her face.  It was stunning against her skin, making her dark eyes stand out, though they were filled with an empty hollowness, a deep sorrow that he could recall perfectly, even in the hazy memory.  He hadn't known his father, but gathered that Iladia and her father were much closer than she was with mother.

"I'm very sorry for your loss.  Your father was a good soldier and will be missed."  

"Thank you, Rear Admiral."  Iladia murmured, not really looking at him.  She didn't know his name, didn't recognize him.  Her eyes never came to focus on him when he offered his paltry words, and she expected him to just move along, as so many others had done.  Instead Hackett stopped, watching her gaze off into the distance, murmuring her thanks to the next person that expressed sympathy.

"What are the ribbons for?"  He asked, unable to let the question slide.  The young woman turned towards him, looking squarely at the older man as she began to explain.

"I'm little Iladia, and my abuela, my dad's mother was, Iladia too, well, we called her Ladi.  When my parents couldn't take me with them, I stayed with Ladi, and she always braided ribbons into my hair whenever my dad came to get me.  The ribbons are the colors of old Mexico, where generations of Ladi's family lived until she married my grandfather Shepard.  But my dad always loved Mexico, the food, the music, all of Ladi's stories.  He was so proud, so I don't know, it seemed fitting today."

He remembered liking the way she spoke, saying her name in Spanish, the sounds of the English words around it tinged with the melodic cadences of someone that spoke Spanish fluently.  It didn't show up in her normal speech, but that made it seem even prettier to him, as if he had learned something almost secret about the young woman.  Hackett nodded, smiling a little at the sentiment of her tribute.  "You look lovely."  He said, patting her on the shoulder before he walked away.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her smile faintly, a mere ghost of a real grin, but it was more than she'd expected on such a day.


	2. After Akuze

Iladia isn't quite sure what made her have a crush on Admiral Hackett, but she certainly had one.  There were times when she couldn't sleep and she would pull up his service profile on her omni-tool, reading about his life, trying to find the story within the lists of assignments, awards and distinguished service commendations.  She hadn't ever really talked to the man before her father died, though she was sure she'd heard her parents mention the name a few times.  He was an Admiral, not just another soldier for her to try her luck with, but that didn't banish the thoughts from her mind.  Somehow, she'd assumed she'd just forget about it, or maybe, she'd grow out of it, as she had with so many infatuations before, but it hadn't happened.  Every chance she happened to run into the Admiral renewed her silly, school-girl crush on him.  

The man was important, too powerful and high ranking for her to be thinking about like _that_ , even in a passing way.  It seemed like such an understatement to say that he was merely _important_ , but it hadn't really occurred to her who or rather what he was when she'd spoken to him before.  She was just talking, and he was there, but after that she'd always felt silly about what she'd said, how she'd babbled on about her stupid hair.  At the time she'd been in a haze, but she hadn't missed the smile he gave her, the honesty held deep within his blue eyes.  She was certain that he'd attended many such memorials, but not everyone always got real empathy with his condolences.

But she liked him, a little more than was appropriate, certainly more than advisable.  He had a gravelly voice that made her shiver with delight, scars that tell stories of past battles that she wants to find out about, eyes that never look away when she seeks them out.  Iladia frowned at herself as she analyzed her feelings.  It was bad - serious crush territory, but she'd been looking for an escape, some fantasy, a happy thought to mix into the miserable dirge that constantly replays in her mind.

After Akuze, Iladia was so broken, abjectly miserable at her own survival.  The Alliance brass wanted to give her a medal for getting out alive, and she wanted to forget it, to stop feeling the sting of acidic spit burning through her armor, or hearing the screeching roar in her head, nearly drowned out by the screams and random gunshots coming from her unit.  Thresher maws, that's what they'd told her they were called during her debriefing.  Too late for it to matter, for her to care about what they were called.  

She'd darted towards the mountains and away from their camp, not wasting her breath with screams, not looking back over her shoulder, fear pushing her to go faster, single-minded in her desire to survive.  Stumbling up the rock, spitting out the blood pooling in her mouth from where she'd bit down on her tongue as she'd ran, Shepard eventually collapsed behind a boulder, hoping that someone else was nearby, that more people had lived.  In the morning, she awoke to an eerie quiet, like the eye of a storm passing over her.  There was no one, not a single soul left, and the dawn brought each of their bodies into full view - a damn massacre.  Every night afterward, she woke up screaming, drenched in her own sweat, trying to hide, to outrun the monsters that never leave her dreams.  A ceremony, people, her mother, a medal, and Iladia can't refuse to go, not when she was the only one left alive.  

Summoning all of her resolve, she pulled on her dress uniform, the only really appropriate attire she had for such an event.  It was strange how eager she was to get into this life, to be a soldier like her parents had been, to explore space.  Though she'd grown up around it, she didn't know the half, and nothing could have prepared Iladia for watching friends, comrades and superiors die.  This would not break her, not if she wouldn't let it.  The ceremony -  she'd get nice and drunk afterwards, ringing in the shore leave that she couldn't wait to start.  First, she had to show everyone in the fleet, including Hackett, that she wouldn't let this set her back, and honor the friends that she left on Akuze.  Slapping on a bit of lipstick, Iladia steadies her hand, and checks the bun she's shoved her hair into by rote. 

"This is you, all of you guys."  She spoke into the air, lifting her head up before she took one last, surveying glance in the mirror.  She was acceptable, though she couldn't hide the bags under her eyes, the weight that has come off in just the time since she'd come back from Akuze.  Couldn't be helped.  Time to go.

The next time he saw her, they were on stage together and he watches as they pin a medal to her chest, unveil a plaque in honor of the unit that she was the only survivor from.  Not much time had passed since he'd last seen her, and she still looks much the same as she did when they'd buried her father.  She had a few more scars that he can see, but she was too still, too quiet in the midst of all the commotion around her.  The sadness she always carried was wrapped around her like a morbid badge of survival, and after the business on Akuze, not likely to go away anytime soon.  

When he made his way over to congratulate her, they start off shaking hands, her slightly smaller hand hangs onto his hand for a little too long, and he doesn't pull away, instead clapping both of his hands around one of hers.  Hackett meant it to be comforting, familiar, but it 's not really either, and both of them recognize the way it charged the air between them.  Interest flickers in her dark eyes and fizzles as he's shunted aside, another official leaning in to offer congratulations and condolences to her.  Without speaking to her again, he leaves.  Better to get out, go home and dream than watch her all night.

Her eyes followed his back as he retreated, disappointed as he quietly slips from the ceremony.

When she entered the bar she didn't even see him, drinking alone, not too far from where she stood at the end of the bar, placing her order.  The ceremony had been too much, too difficult, and all she wanted, what she needed was to forget or at least to blur it enough so that it became manageable.  

That hair was loose again, this time less neat, somehow more alluring its wilder state, just as striking, dark and curly.  Clad in civvies instead of her uniform, he couldn't make out what color of her sleeveless, ankle-length dress - white, light pink, maybe even beige, but liked the simple outfit, how it clung to the roundness of her pert rear, showed off her toned figure without clinging to every curve, though he wouldn't have minded that sight.

"Bartender."  Hackett motioned the young man in black over to him.  Sliding his credit chit across the polished oak bar, he leaned forward to instruct the man.

"Anything that soldier orders is on me."  Hackett points out Iladia instead of describing her, earning an approving nod from the bartender.  The man swiped the chit and handed it back to him, setting up a tab for Shepard.

"Is that all, sir?"

"That's all."  The bartender walked away, returning to whatever task had his attention before and Hackett goes back to nursing his scotch on the rocks, which was rapidly turning into scotch and water.  Sipping his drink, he was content to watch her over the rim of the glass.  It was clear that she wanted to forget, to let the drink chase away whatever ghosts were dogging her.  Sitting at the bar, her shoulders were hunched around her ears, and she doesn't speak to anyone else, she came to find some peace.  Though she earns a few friendly, interested smiles, she doesn't notice, and stares straight ahead as she starts in.  Iladia was slugging back the liquor far too quickly, though she drinks water as well.  He almost lets out a dry, sad laugh, knowing that the water won't really help her, not as fast as she's going.

It takes a while, and he ordered another drink to sip as he eyed her, enjoying the chance to stare at her without scrutiny.  He watched her tuck her hair behind her ear with a frustrated motion, giving him a better view of her profile for a moment, before the curls sprang loose and resumed their former position, hiding part of her face from his sight.  When she starts to fish out her own credit chit, the bartender speaks to her, and jerks his head over at Hackett, who was already watching the exchange.  She holds up her empty glass in acknowledgement and he nods at her, continuing to watch as she got to her feet, surprisingly steady, and walked out.  

The bartender had his eyes on him, but Hackett orders another drink in a voice of forced calm, making it clear he isn't going to follow her.  Even if he was invited back to her bed, he would be more discreet than to leave just behind her.  He took his time with this drink too, not in any rush, though he does drink it faster without the distraction of Iladia to gaze at.  His omni-tool beeped  just as he's leaving the bar and he stops in the hallway, leaning against the cool metal wall, checking the message.  "I owe you a drink, Hackett, and I always pay my debts."

A smile spread across his scarred face as he typed back.  "You owe me more than one.  And I always collect."  Hackett hesitated before sending it, but figured that it was friendly, she needed the distraction and that he _did_ pay for her drinks.  Sensibly, he hoped that she hadn't already gone to sleep, that was a recipe for a hangover for sure.  One click and it was away, and he imagined that he heard her giggle softly when she read it, curled up in her bed with her heavy head.  It was that image that he took to sleep that night, and failed miserably at dimming his desire to be in the bed with her.


	3. Promotion

"Congratulations on your promotion to Admiral.  Maybe I'll get a chance to congratulate you in person and pay you back for the drinks I owe you."  

Iladia sent the email from her bunk, as soon as she saw in the Alliance news report that Hackett accepted a promotion.  She didn't understand what compelled her to send it, or what she expected to hear back from him, if anything at all.  Her message was more like a knee-jerk reaction to any reason to talk with him again.  The vid of him receiving his promotion played back on her omnitool and she watched him receiving the honor, saluting crisply when he is officially addressed with his new rank.  For the first time since her father's funeral, she sees him without a hat on, without the brim pulled low as it had been in the bar, the last time she'd seen him in person.  He had straight grey hair, cut short enough to stay neat even under his hat, and it was grey all over, making her wonder if it was ever all black or had the grey always been threaded through it, taking over as he endured more.

She's read about him, knew that he grew up in Buenos Aries, that he was basically an orphan and has an aptitude for science.  She always felt a pang when she read that he hadn't known his father, for she and her father had been close throughout her life.  Her mother was certainly there for her and as she got older, she saw more similarities than differences, but it had been her father that Iladia had turned to first for understanding or comfort. It was he that she'd consulted first about her desire to go into the Alliance, to study engineering as he had.  While he'd studied bioengineering, she'd favored more tech.

Days pass and she'd almost forgotten the errant message, well, she wanted to forget about it.  It was a silly thing to do, and she was sure that Hackett was too busy to answer her.  His promotion must have meant a lot more responsibility, other things to think about than her.  Her last letter from her mother mentioned that he was being primed to take control of the Fifth Fleet, out of Arcturus Station.  It made sense, he had been stationed there before, and she wondered how long his promotion had been in the works for.  With every rank he rose, Hackett added more to his legend.  He was already an impressive study for those wishing to get ahead, though Iladia doubted his success could ever be duplicated.  

Her work had taken her out towards some of the human colony worlds, patrolling and attending to the Alliance sensor arrays that guarded their borders near the Terminus Systems.  She was slated to start her the special forces training in Rio de Janerio, the N1 course fairly soon.  After Akuze, she'd gotten a promotion, then the letter came, offering her a chance to try the training.  It was everything she'd wanted for her career, a leg up that would have everything to do with her abilities and nothing to do with her parents or her name.

About two weeks later, she got an answer.

"Thank you.  Come back to Arcturus and we'll see about the drinks."

She couldn't decide whether he was flirting with her or just being polite.  It was a little cagey, a little more formal than they'd been before, as if he didn't want to err on the side of being too friendly, but left it open.  The note reminded her of the vast gulf between them, between his rank and station and her, with so little chance of ever becoming an admiral or even a captain.  Iladia couldn't fathom when she might get to Arcturus station again, let alone have time for a drink with the Admiral and decided that he being kind to even respond.  

It all seemed so lofty, too far-fetched to become anything more than a questionable flirtation, and she tries to let it go, but she can't. Hackett somehow creeps into her thoughts, especially when she spies a bottle of aged single-malt scotch while she's out in the colonies.  It's a good bottle, someone obviously brought it with them from Earth, though she doesn't know the story of how it wound up abandoned.

Iladia sends it to Hackett, with a note attached.  Friendly, just in case she was reading it wrong and was well on the way to a reprimand, but she didn't think she was.  If he didn't want to talk to her again, he would have dispelled her flimsy excuse long before.

"Excuse me, Admiral, there's a package for you."  Corporal Oppenheim, his new assistant came into the room, bustling through as she came, all efficiency.  So far, Hackett liked her, she was a no-nonsense girl from the Philippines, who had his schedule organized within her first day, and kept things rolling.  He wasn't inefficient himself, Hackett loathed disorganization, but he had a tendency to get pulled in too many direction, no idea when to say no.  Oppenheim did, and was fierce about letting things interfere with his few moments of personal time.  It was a nice change.

"Were you expecting anything from the colonies, sir?"

"No, I wasn't.  Who is it from?"  He asked, knowing that she would have checked it before she brought it to him.  It wouldn't surprise him if she knew what was in it.  "Not another gift from our Terra Firma friends, is it?"  Hackett had earned the xenophobic group's attention with his promotion, and they had taken to trying to recruit him to their cause.  It was a battle lost before it started, for even though he'd fought against the turians, he knew the value of having allies in the wider galaxy, especially if those allies had the most dreadnoughts.

"Lieutenant Iladia Shepard, sir."  

"That will be all Oppenheim.  Thank you."  He said, trying to keep his voice level as he dismissed her.  A sudden thrill ran through him, and he found himself eager to know what Iladia could have possibly sent him from all the way out in colony space.

Curiosity got the better of him and he eagerly tore into the box, extracting the bottle from the protective wrapping, along with the handwritten note stuck to it.  He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen someone writing by hand, and took a moment to admire her neat script offering congratulations to him once again and saying that she hoped the bottle paid off some of her tab.  At this point, he was certain that she didn't want to pay her tab so much as have an excuse to talk to him, as the gift indicated.  It was scotch, and a good one by the looks of it, though truthfully Hackett enjoyed liquor without claiming any expert knowledge on the subject.

They were veering towards inappropriate behavior, but he claimed as much responsibility as she did, both encouraging the attraction in the other.  Hackett felt the dangerous pull towards the beautiful young woman, and tried to keep in mind that there were rules for a reason, though all of them seemed paltry whenever he recalled her smile or the interest that had lit her eyes.  It would be unbecoming for the two of them to speak over vid comm just to thank her, though a chance to see her again would almost make it worth it.  He sighed sadly, knowing that it was improper for both of them, for her to send him a gift and him to be thanking her so personally.  People might talk, and it was ensured that it would create chatter if she wasn't alone when she got his call.  So he simply smiled at the bottle, thinking of her, stowing it with his personal items, careful to keep it safe.  Later, when he had time he would send her another short message, when he had the time to think over the wording.

Instead he turned to his computer and pulled up her personnel file, an action that he'd done so often that it became habit.  She was busy - training coming up, a tour in the colonies after finishing a rotation on the space stations near batarian space.  Iladia Carmen Morales Shepard, he read, looking over her photo again.  He wondered whom she was named for, at least the _Morales_ part of her name must have come from some ancestors her parents wanted to honor.  The identification photo of her was awful, she must have had dental work before it was taken - her cheeks swollen and dark circles under her eyes - but Hackett still admired it, undeterred as he looked at her pretty eyes, the thick hair pulled away from her face, the full lips.  Though she didn't look much like the soldier she'd become, he liked the picture, there were few others available to him.

There would be a new one after she completed the Interplanetary Combatives Training.  He was confident that she would do well, even if she didn't complete it.  She wasn't a straight up soldier though, and he worried that relying on other powers might weaken her in some way.  Though he'd never done the training himself - it wasn't even developed until well after he'd become a command officer, but he knew about it, had helped design parts of it.  Hackett hoped that Shepard would do well, that she wouldn't be hurt in the grueling training.

The ICT that led to the N7 designation wasn't even around when he was in her shoes - and just the very thought of it made him feel old.  Hackett realized that he was twenty years older than Shepard - she had been just a small girl when he was off fighting in the First Contact War.  Most days, he never felt old, but he remembered a time where there were no human biotics and no one really took the Alliance seriously as a military entity.  Though they were far in the past, he had memories of getting into a particularly fearsome bar fight with at eighteen with a group that made fun of his Alliance uniform.  It hadn't ended well for them, Hackett had been getting into fights all his life.

There were no reports of fights in her records, nothing of the sort.  She was an exemplary marine, her technical and aptitude scores far and away from what they normally saw.  Among the best, she stood out as the brightest, with nary a blemish on file.  All of the information on her that the Alliance had, but none of it revealed her personality, nothing about the spirit that he found so captivating.  It only served to make him want to see her again, to ask her about herself, to see what made her laugh and what might make her angry.  

But mostly he wished she were there to give him a reason to open the present she'd sent.


	4. Their Moment and the Future

"It seems like we only see each other at events like this."  Hackett joked as he met with the most recent crop of N7 graduates, pleased to see Iladia amongst them.

There were only four, but there was no shame in not completing the grueling training course.  Nine had started out, five of them leaving before they finished.  It made him intensely proud to see her sporting the elite designation, but it also confirmed his thoughts about her, she was too talented for him to ruin her in any way.  Far too much potential to become a casualty of a poor decision, the butt of speculation and gossip and he lamented that he was compelled to do the right thing.  The wrong one would be far more enjoyable for them both, and Hackett tried to banished the thoughts before they could properly form.  It wasn't the time for that.

"At least it's more pleasant than last time.  Something to celebrate."  Iladia said, tilting her head to the side as she smiled.  Hackett could hear the word she held back, she wanted to say it was something to celebrate together.

Her happy eyes shone brightly as he spoke with her and the others around her.  She was still interested, her smile warm, a new scar near her upper lip that he yearned to kiss.  If they had no audience, no rules or worries, he would congratulate her thoroughly, until the both of them were breathless and exhausted, after she'd climaxed more times than she could count, screaming his name until she was hoarse, and then he'd take her to his quarters and do it all over again, but _slower_.  But he didn't, couldn't do anything at all but stand there with his hands balled in frustration.  He settled for admiring her as he talked to all of them, the jovial group of relieved soldiers all going off to different assignments after the ceremony.  All he could do, would ever be able to do was watch as she moved further away, down the path life intended for her.

Iladia watched Hackett, and could feel what was simmering beneath the surface, what he was doggedly trying to hold back.  There was so much electricity between the two of them, it made her unknowingly hold her breath with anticipation.  They would wind up confronting each other, of that she was sure, but she wasn't sure what she wanted from Hackett.  A night together, while nice was one thing, but she thought there might be more, that there was a good reason why he was holding back so insistently.  Her suspicions were confirmed after their small celebration began, and Hackett began moving further away from her, refusing to look in her direction.  All the better for her if he wasn't paying any attention to her.

She wasn't going to let him walk out that easily, not this time.  At the last ceremony she watched him sneak away, not knowing that he would be in the bar later.  This time Iladia was ready, she ambushed Hackett just when he thought he was free, down the hall and around the corner from the celebration.  She'd been sitting here since she saw him shaking hands on his way to the door, making her way through the crowd by saying that she needed to go to the ladies room.

"Admiral Hackett, are you avoiding me?"  Iladia asked, her hands on her hips as she reveled in the triumph of catching him.  Hackett, for his part, certainly looked stunned to see her, though he recovered quickly.

"Leaving the party early?"  He asked, carefully avoiding her question.  In his haste to leave, he hadn't noticed her leave first.

"I could ask you the same."  She countered.  Hackett knew he wouldn't be rid of her easily, she meant to force the issue he'd so hoped to avoid.  Only just keeping himself from letting out an exasperated sigh, he turned slightly away from her, trying to block her pretty face from view.

"Take a walk with me."  He said, requesting and not asking.  Iladia quickly fell into step next to him.  He wasn't much taller than her, but his stride seemed longer and they fell into sync, her struggling to keep up with him.  They walked in silence until Hackett stopped in front of a viewing window, the sounds of the people in the room they'd left behind completely swallowed by the silence.  Outside the window, the kinetic barrier made the stars wink at them, a blue wave of energy pulsing into view every so often.

"I never did get a chance to thank you for the scotch.  Thank you."  He mumbled his thanks, not turning to look at her, his hands on the guard railing blocking the window.

"How was it?"

"I don't know.  I haven't had the occasion to open it yet."

"You're waiting for a good occasion?"

"Or a really bad one."  Hackett gave a dry laugh at that, knowing that really bad was likely to come up before good.

Laughter still lingered on his lips as Iladia reached up and touched his face, her thumb smoothing over the scar that marred from his cheek to his upper lip in a diagonal cut that would never fade.  For a moment, he let himself fall into the caress, feeling the warmth of her rough hands as they skimmed gently over his face, tracing his scar and then cupping his jaw.  Her lips were light against his, the kiss sweet enough to be chaste if he hadn't kissed her back with such force.  Every curve of her body was accentuated by her armor, and he wanted nothing more than to push her into the darkest corner and release the seals so he could taste her skin, to pull her hair free as he'd so often dreamed of it and see it bouncing around her bare shoulders.  He kissed her, all sense blotted out by the force of his want, her tongue up against his, the two of them hungry after their shy dance toward each other.  When they broke apart, he pulled her back into his arms, kissing deeply as he crept a hand up her back, wanting to commit her every sigh, the smell of her, every little detail to memory.

"Hackett."  She started, but he couldn't and he stepped back, out of her reach.  Although he'd forced himself away, he missed her warmth as soon as they'd parted, and regretted that he could no longer smell the sweet scent he was sure was her shampoo.  His body was having a visceral reaction, frustrated and throbbing, and he was hardly able to control his urge to close the distance between them just so he could be nearer to her.

"I think it's time you went back to the party, Iladia."  The words were quiet, but they left no room for argument, still she tried.

"Is that what you want, sir?"

"My desires are immaterial, Shepard.  It's what's best for both of us."

"I understand, sir, and I'm sorry for any problems I may have caused."  She apologized, but Hackett simply shook his head at her. Those words should have been his.

"We should know better than this, but it wasn't...unwelcome.  If things were different."  Hackett stopped himself from using that old line, instead giving her a morose smile.  "It's what's best."  He repeated, trying to convince the both of them.

Iladia looked crestfallen as he watched her walk back the way they had come.  Hackett waited, hoping that he didn't hear tears, relief flooding him when the sounds of the party came from the open door, then it shut again, leaving him in silence.  He wiped at his mouth, feeling traces of her lipstick on his face, damning everything in the world.

As she rose through the ranks, he avoided her.  It was safer than giving in again, than hurting her or crippling her career, and he respected her too much to put her in jeopardy.  But those stolen kisses, the few moments when they'd been alone together, they fueled fantasies he would never admit to, things that could never be in the light of day, only coming to life when his mind was restive and looking for release.  In his dreams, the few kisses were woven into a tapestry of lust that made he wake up more than once unsatisfied and yearning for Iladia.

He wasn't there when the news came about her becoming the first human Spectre, but he wasn't surprised in the least.  He was part of the group that selected her to put forward from the too short stack of candidates they had available.  He'd tried to be objective, reminding Anderson of her trouble on Akuze, wondering if it still bothered her, wishing he had done more than just buy her drinks.

Anderson had brushed his concern aside, stating that, "Every soldier has scars.  Shepard's a survivor."   He was right, and Anderson gave voice to Hackett's feelings about her, the admiral glad that he hadn't let his emotions overestimate her abilities.  Shepard was a rare mix, someone that felt but didn't let it get in the way of the mission, but never forgot or was careless.  Her scars made her strive to be better, but Hackett knew that mindset was almost as dangerous as recklessness.  Too much responsibility weathered and bent a person until they couldn't get back up again, pulling and tearing at them until it engulfed them.  That was the last thing he wanted for Iladia.

Hackett watched the vid in silence, saving a copy to his omnitool.  It was historical, he would argue if anyone ever caught him watching it, but no one ever did.  It had been years since he'd seen her in more than passing, preferring to contact her by any means other than face to face if he could help it.  He wondered if she remembered their flirtation, if Iladia thought of it as often as he did.

In the interim, there had been people, relationships for both of them, but he never gave the scuttlebutt about hers much interest.  She was young, and he wanted her to forget, or at least, not to dwell on anything between the two of them.  They had no claim to each other, even as much as he'd wanted it at one time.  Hackett never wanted to be seriously entangled with anyone in the Alliance, it was a mess of regulations and too much personal business out in the open, but civilians never understood the demands of his life, his position.  So he was mostly unencumbered as the years drifted by, content with more friends than lovers, his duties encroaching so far until personal time was a thing of the past.

Later, there were rumors about her and Kaidan Alenko, but they were just rumors.  According to Anderson, Alenko had been a little smitten with his commanding officer, but nothing had ever come of it, Iladia and Kaidan heeding the warning he'd given her years ago.  It was then that they were closest in their professional lives, Hackett contacting her for Alliance missions as she searched the galaxy for Saren.  He had to admit, he liked the sound of her voice and their semi-regular chats, though he wasn't pleased that the press corps were blasting her image constantly, but he liked seeing it.  There were no lack of pictures now, and he admired the way she'd changed, still beautiful, but mature and devoid of her girlishness, all steel under that suit of armor.

During the Battle of the Citadel, he realized just how far she'd come, and knew he'd done the right thing all those years ago.  She was giving the orders, and she had him save the Destiny Ascension.  At one time, no Alliance soldier would have given that order, and there would have been no way he would have agreed.  Shepard was right, and to him it was the true mark of how time had changed, how she made things change.  The decision would change the stage of the galaxy, giving humans more input as they helped rebuild the damage Saren inflicted.

And then she died.  It was then and only then, that he sadly opened the bottle of scotch that he'd kept wrapped up for years, with the note still attached to it.  The bottle had become a memento of sorts, a reminder of her that he liked to keep.

"Here's to you, Iladia."  Hackett said, raising his glass towards his window.  He drank alone, thinking of her and how lonely the stars were without her.


	5. Redemption

"Get those damn posters changed.  No one asked me if I wanted the Hero of the Citadel's image used in our new marketing.  I don't like it one bit."

Hackett had been incensed and more than a little shaken after he'd come face to face with Iladia just weeks after her death, her smiling face dutiful and just the merest hint of inviting as it gazed down at him from a seven foot tall recruitment advertisement.  When he saw it, his heart raced excitedly, palms breaking out in sweat before realization slammed down on him like a blow to the chest.  Iladia was gone and they'd never be graced with another photo of her, or a new story of her exploits, and he'd never again hear her voice as he spoke to her over the comm.  The last though made regret and guilt bubble uncomfortably within him, making him uncharacteristically surly.  That had only been the beginning, there were pictures of her everywhere, talking advertisements that flashed at them, playing on hidden video screens on previously silent walls, posters that lit up when he walked past.

"I believe her mother, Captain Shepard, approved when they contacted her for permission."  Oppenheim informed him.

"I'm overruling it.  Tell Hannah I'm sorry, but this won't stand.  Find another model, make a composite, do something else, just take Iladia - Commander Shepard - off of them."  He was careful to keep his voice level, to stop the rage that brimmed within him after an advertisement featuring the brave Commander Shepard saving the galaxy with an N7 and the telltale red arm stripe painted on her armor had played at him while he was using a urinal.  He sighed, frustratedly running a hand across his face.  In losing Shepard, they'd lost so much, more than most would ever know.

He sent a message to Hannah, explaining why he'd ordered Iladia removed as the face of the Alliance, and went to catch up on his work before he had to begin the endless round of meetings that characterized his days.  When he'd returned from a meeting the senior Fleet Admirals, he sank wearily into his chair, waving Oppenheim away as she tried to tell him something.  Ten hours into the day, and he had at least two more hours of work left, if he was lucky enough not to be interrupted.  A small noise in a corner made him look up, and he narrowed his eyes and reflexively stood back up, unaware that he had a visitor.

"Admiral Hackett, I need to speak with you."  The voice was trying to stay calm, though there was an edge just underneath it and he could tell that the speaker was going to unravel.  His eyes snapped up and he found himself face to face with someone he knew only by reputation.

"Dr. T'Soni."  He folded his arms over his chest, but kept his voice carefully neutral, despite his complete confusion at her presence on Arcturus.  "We don't get many asari visitors here. What brings you to see me?"

"I've done something that I think you should be aware of, but it wasn't an easy thing to do."  The asari was fretting, and Hackett sensed that her control was nearing an end.  She kept lacing her slender blue fingers together than shaking her hands out, repeating the process in a way that showed no conscious thought.  He walked over to her and poured a glass of water from the pitcher that stayed on the table near the visitors chairs.  He took a seat across from her and set the glass down, learning forward as he waited for her to speak again.

"The Collectors were after Shepard's body."  She began, and Hackett drew in a sharp breath, but didn't speak, didn't dare interrupt her once she was speaking.  "They were using the Shadow Broker to get her remains, I don't know why.  I stopped them and gave her to Cerberus."  Hackett sat back at that statement, not sure what to make of it.

"Why Cerberus?"  He asked, his confusion growing by the second. The Collectors were little more than myth, and had never shown interest in humans before. Why her?

"They already had an agent trying to secure her body.  The Illusive Man contacted me, said they could bring her back."  The doctor told her, looking at him for the first time.  Her blue eyes glittered with a hard, defiant light as she said it.  "It was either that or let the Collectors have her for goddess knows what reason."

"How?"  He uttered the one word, wondering how Cerberus would even begin such a thing.

"I'm not sure."  Liara admitted, dropping his gaze.  "As much as I'd like Shepard back, I'm not sure it was the right thing.  The Cerberus operative I met wasn't confident about their success after she saw the condition of Shepard's body."  She looked down at her hands as she spoke again, the words barely whispered.  "I hope I didn't make a mistake...couldn't just let her go."

Hackett said nothing to that, but sat stroking his chin as he thought.  He was quiet as Liara drank the water he'd placed in front of her, and still silent when she finished.

"Don't stay here on the station, you'll stand out too much and we don't want Cerberus to know you told me about Shepard.  Go someplace but keep in contact, and make sure it's secure.  If Cerberus succeeds, she will probably try to find you, but I doubt they'd let her come here."  Hackett said, thinking aloud.

"I've been working on something new and I think I am going to set up an office on Illium.  The Shadow Broker and I have unfinished business."  She said, and he was surprised to hear the hardness in her voice.  Whatever she'd done fighting the Broker hadn't turned out the way she'd wanted, that much was clear.  He nodded at her.

"Keep in touch, Dr. T'Soni."

She rose and smiled at him over her shoulder.  "Will do, Admiral."

It was almost too much to hope for, and too grim to contemplate.  Iladia, coming back, before he'd even really dealt with her being gone.  He didn't know what to think of Dr. T'Soni's story about Cerberus, but he had no reason to doubt her.  Within weeks of their meeting, he was receiving reports of a new information trader out of Illium and he worried just for a moment, hoping the asari wouldn't get herself into too much trouble, taking on the Shadow Broker like this.  When he could, he sent her a little information to help her out, it would be useful for him to maintain friendly relations with a Prothean expert turned info dealer.

Not long after that, the new face of the Alliance recruitment was sent for his approval.  He opened the message, unsure of what he would find, but prepared for the worst.  It was a composite face, a person that didn't exist, and Hackett blew out a shaky breath, glad that he hadn't opened a file to see anyone resembling Iladia staring back at him.

#####

Hackett was going to Akuze to unveil the memorial statue for Iladia - _Shepard_ , for Shepard.  He had to remember to call her Shepard, not Iladia or Ladi, the names he thought of her by, the way Hannah referred to her, her crew, her friends.  It had been nearly two years since they'd lost her, but they were still mourning her absence.

"While I'm gone, make sure you track down those tags.  I don't care how you do it."  He slammed the palm of his hand against his desk, but Oppenheim, well used to his moods after so many years, didn't flinch or jump back.  "Nothing of Shepard's should be on the black market."

"It will be done, sir."

On the way to Akuze, Hackett's leg jangled nervously, though in truth, he didn't have any trepidation about the speech.  It was just the beginning in a series of speakers, Alliance people that had something to say about Shepard, a recorded thank you from the Council, photos of her playing in the background.

Hackett stood next to the statue, averting his blue eyes from the life-like figure he drew in a breath, preparing to give his short speech.  A few people tried talking to him, but he was too distracted to be pulled into a conversation.  Normally, he wasn't given to regret, it was far too dangerous for a soldier to harbor wishes for the past, but for Iladia, there was an ever-present knot of regret that he'd simply learned to live with.  He gave his words, a paltry offering meant to be palliative yet uplifting to the crowd assembled. He looked out at the crowd, the vast sea of faces that had come to honor her - the first Human Spectre.  There were few he recognized, but amongst the marines he saw the slightly taller head of the turian sharpshooter that she'd had on the Normandy, standing next to Commander Alenko and a little further on, Councilor Anderson.

Hackett knelt in front of the statue after the speakers had finished, feeling like a sentimental fool as he placed a bouquet of white peonies tied with white, green and red ribbons next to it.  No one else there would understand the meaning, but he did, he'd seen her give the exact same flowers to her father at his funeral.  He didn't say anything aloud, he couldn't, but in his mind he wished for her to come back, to be protected and safe until she did and after.

When he returned to Arcturus, he felt a decade older than when he'd left.  Oppenheim had been successful; Shepard's dogtags were recovered by an operative on Omega.  He sent them to Illium, with orders that they be delivered to the hands of Liara T'Soni and only her.  The intel she'd provided had been part of what helped them recover the tags.

He hoped Liara would be able to give them to Iladia in person soon.


	6. The Unknowable

Miranda Lawson couldn't say that she exactly liked the subject of the Lazarus Project, Commander Iladia Shepard, but she is sure of one thing: this woman is an Alliance soldier through and through.  It was hard to get a read of her personality while she's been in their medical bay, but the few times she achieved consciousness, she fought their medication, and repeated only her name and service number.

Soldier, through and through.  It almost impressed Miranda, that her instinct is to treat it like a hostile situation, though she was sure Shepard wasn't cognizant of where she was, or even when it was, during her fleeting moments of awareness.    

The project was nearing completion and Shepard will be operational soon enough, though the idea of finishing this phase of the Lazarus Project only gave Lawson a crumb of grim satisfaction.  Soon, they world would see if the Illusive Man's gamble had paid off, and if not, it would be up to her to make it right.  Miranda was skeptical to say the least, nothing in the classified psych reports their Alliance contacts have sent convince the Cerberus Operative that Commander Shepard was as worth their time as the Illusive Man insisted she was.  A hero, for sure, but worth the massive investment of time and resources to simply try and convince her to join them, no.  All the Alliance files on Shepard were open on her screen and Miranda pursed her lips together as she perused them again, out of habit.  There was nothing terrible in them, commendations, awards, honors, a few disciplinary actions earlier in her career for minor offenses.  Akuze was listed, but Miranda found even that file dull, though she did read the notes about Corporal Toombs carefully.  

The Commander had met the other survivor of Akuze, who told her about the Cerberus experiments with maw acid shortly before shooting himself in the head.  Sloppy work, she thought, shaking her head in dismay.  If she had been in charge, it would have been completely different.  They'd have to tread lightly, all of the contact she'd had with Cerberus had been negative, at least all the things she _knew_ Cerberus was responsible for.  There had been other things they'd done, plans that affected her that had proved beneficial, but she was barred from sharing that with the Commander.

Her job was to bring the Commander back, for better or worse and to that, she has always been fully committed and determined to do her job.  When mechs started attacking the station, Miranda knew at once that one of her subordinates must be a double agent, most likely for the Shadow Broker, since he was trying so hard to procure Shepard for his own deals.  A mech shot at her, and she ducked just in time, then used overload to take it out.  Her shots were true as she eliminated the rest of the LOKI mechs in the room, quickly checking to make sure that there are no more before she sealed the doors, shuttering herself in safety for the moment.  Her fingers moved swiftly over the computer console, bringing up the camera that showed her Shepard still sleeping on the medical bed, she heaved a sigh of relief.  They hadn't gotten to her yet.  Miranda began to speak over the comm channel.

"Wake up, Commander.  This station is under attack."

The voice wakes Iladia for the first time in years, and her instincts kick in as she begins to fight.  Her muscles stretch and sing as she uses them, and she has no stiffness, though she can tell she has been in the hospital for a very long time.  The details looked foreign to her eyes, though she's only encountered humans as she makes her way through the corridors.  Humans being gunned down by machines, people behind glass walls that she cannot save, fires that burn just out of her reach.  They couldn't be on Earth, it was very obviously a station, but not anything related to the Citadel, otherwise she'd be seeing aliens.  Something was wrong here, and Shepard fights harder, trying to figure out some answers as she goes along.

#####

Two years, and the world has gone on, as it always does.  Her last memory is from two years ago.  She can hardly recall those last moments, everything after putting Joker in the shuttle gets a bit fuzzy.  But they'd been attacked, and it hadn't gone well for her crew.

Iladia wasn't sure what's happened, and didn't really want to know, but she couldn't help but be amazed that she was back, walking and talking, with her own memories and body.  There are little things that are different, she has cybernetic implants throughout her body, and they were still visible through the scars on her face, though Doctor Chakwas has told her that she can heal them.  Running makes her tired more quickly now, but Miranda assured her that it is a temporary side effect, but her abilities are stronger, she's stronger and sleeps less than she did before.

It gives her ample time to figure things out.  There were nights when she slept around six hours, the blessed relief of six whole hours, but most of the time it was in fits and starts, four hours at the most, leaving her off-duty hours freer than they'd been when she'd served in the Alliance.  There are some rough spots at first, but eventually she settles into a pattern on the ship.

This ship, the new Normandy, was beautiful, and though she sometimes referred to it as a copy, it wasn't, it was much better than that, more like an upgrade.  She still wasn't sure about Cerberus, but liked that Miranda doesn't try to cozy up to her, but remains respectful despite her obvious disdain for Iladia.  

When she checked her email, the first thing her eyes focused on was the mail from Hackett.  The message informed her of the location of the first Normandy, and Iladia felt her eyes fill with tears as she thought about her old ship.  It's just a regular email, straight to business, asking her to set the memorial down, but Iladia wanted it to mean more, to be more than just business as usual between them.  She'd died, and she wanted someone to acknowledge it, other than to be suspicious of her.  

" _Godspeed to you, Iladia_."  She read the last line a few times, before archiving the message.  Did he even really care or was it some abstract sentiment that made him use her first name?

Iladia set a course straight for it, but didn't email Hackett, didn't tell anyone why she wanted to travel there.  She was reasonably sure Miranda reads her email, so she would already know, and Joker, well, he'd probably understood as soon as she'd charted the course.  

She's missing two years, and this mission was a way to close the last memory she has.  Iladia wasn't sure what she needs from visiting Alchera, but she was certain that she needed to go.

"You alright, Commander?"  Joker asked before she left.

"Not in the least."  She said honestly.  It almost would have fooled him into thinking she was joking, the lightness of her tone, if her voice hadn't quavered softly at the end, bringing a world of uncertainty into that statement.

"I could go with you."  Joker said, offering the one thing he never did, to go planetside just to support her.

"I appreciate it Joker, but I think I need to do this alone."

"I understand, Commander.  Better get down to the shuttle bay."

Tears clung to her lashes as she dropped the dogtags at a courier stop, addressing the parcel to Admiral S. Hackett on Arcturus Station.  She remembered the last time she did this, sent him a package, it had been that scotch she'd found, back when they'd still been flirting and she'd been so naive.  So much of the world had changed and Iladia was perpetually behind and out of step, and though she considered writing him another note, she didn't.  With all that had passed, she couldn't be sure if he hadn't forgotten her, or perhaps it would simply no longer have been welcome.  There had to be someone special in his life since their brief kiss all of those years before.  Her mind tells her that it was five years, but she knows that it's seven; she has to add two to the years in her mind, as though someone flipped the pages on the calendar without telling her.

It was a horrible lost feeling and she froze there, still clutching the bundle in her hand.  Would this lost, out of sequence feeling ever go away, or would she spend the rest of her life treading water, trying to recoup two lost years?  Her body barely felt like her own, and her memories, though intact and truthful, felt traitorous to her for being so out of date.  She wanted someone to talk to as an equal, someone to just listen and hold her close.  Hackett had been the last person she'd approached in a manner that had spoken of something more than one night, and that was long in the past.  Maybe it was time now that she was back, time to build something, find a special someone.  Her laugh was bitter at the thought, wondering who would even consider her, dead Spectre with new and improved glowing scars and the psychological trauma of the freshly resurrected.

An impatient hand brushed the tears away and she forced herself to concentrate on the present, not the past, and she slid the package down the tube that would send it away on the next transport.  She's missed too much of her life, spent too much time on the past.  What she's left with was the here and now, and a future previously denied to her, the present and the unknowable.


	7. A Friend on Illium

This whole mission felt as if Iladia spent most of her time going from one end of the galaxy to the next, speeding away to solve one more problem or to do one more thing before she'd even finished the last.  After Horizon, the fragile little bit of protection she'd been able to build up around herself was smashed in by the force of seeing Commander Alenko.  They'd been friends once, though the memory was dark and distant in her mind, almost as if she'd dreamed all their conversations on the first Normandy. 

" _I'm still an Alliance soldier_."  He meant the words to be about himself, but she couldn't help but think of herself too.  She wanted to go back down there and scream at him, tell him that she hadn't given up on the Alliance.

It had been the other way around.

Shepard let the though drop as she picked up a datapad, looking over her messages.  They were already headed to Illium, to recruit two more people to stop the Collectors.  No matter what Kaidan thought, stopping the Collectors was her priority.  All the details, was she going back to the Alliance, what would she do after she stopped the attacks on the colonies - those could be figured out once she'd done what she was brought back to do.

#####

Relief flooded through her when she met Liara on Illium, though their conversation raised as many questions as it answered.  Her old friend had changed, though at least she seemed pleased to see Shepard.  It was a nice change to have resources other than the extravagent ones provided by Cerberus, the ones that made her wonder how many strings were attached, and if she could ever get away from them.

"May I use your terminal?  I want to send a message to my mother."  Iladia asked and Liara nodded.

"I'll just be outside with Nyxeris.  If you need anything, just let us know."  Liara said, getting up from behind her desk.  She ran a hand over Shepard's shoulder as she walked by.  "It's good to have you back."

Iladia gave her a relieved smile, glad that someone thought so after all the difficulties she'd encountered.  It was unexpected, finding a friend on Illium of all places, but Liara had become very resourceful, and for that, Shepard was grateful.  Blowing out a long breath, Iladia walked behind the desk in the sleek glass office, sat down and stared at the screen.  She needed to say things that weren't really all that confidential, but she just hated the thought of Cerberus knowing everything about her.  The words she'd spent so long composing in her head flew away and in the end, she wound up sending two quick messages, far less than she'd planned.  

"Mom, I'm sorry.  I love you so much and please don't worry too much about me.  Things will work themselves out, but in the meantime I am fine.  Don't trust my email, but will try to keep in touch.  Love, Ladi."

It felt insufficient, but it would have to do for now.  She hated this, not even being able to see her mother, or talk to her over the comm as she had before.  She hesitated over her next email, the message to Hackett, spending more time getting the wording just right.

"Hackett, I would like to write more, but I don't trust Cerberus not to watch my emails.  A friend on Illium, Dr. T'Soni, is letting me send this from her terminal.  It's strange waking up two years in the future, but trust that I am still me, albeit with a few more cybernetic parts.  I'm still the soldier you've always known me to be, and I promise that will never change.  Take care, Iladia."

She bit her lip, not sure how to say more, how to put it into words.  There were no more ranks between them, that barrier removed, but it still felt strange, as if she should be calling him sir no matter what.  There were things between them, things they never talked about or even really acknowledged after her ill-advised kiss, and she wanted to say something.

But this wasn't the right time.

#####

Her email was welcome, and at the very least sounded like her, though it was too brief for him to get a good measure of her personality.   After all that's happened to her, Iladia still retained some of the guileless innocence he'd always seen in her, almost stubbornly refusing to become jaded or let the fight be taken out of her.  She was never what he'd call perky, more like a brilliant stone that twinkles even when tarnished.  It was as if she sought out every bit of light in a place and made it her own, conquering both the darkness and the light in the process.

Still this was Cerberus, and he wanted to err on the cautious side with Iladia.  Still, he hadn't seen her in far too long and wondered if he shouldn't request a visit or else pay her one.  At the very least, he had a problem that she might be able to solve for him, especially with her new version of the Normandy.  Hackett closed the email and resumed his earlier task, grimacing as he looked at the last communication from Dr. Amanda Kenson.  It was too long ago and cryptic at best.  He was well past worried about the doctor, and had considered sending a team into batarian space to find her.  No, Shepard would be the right person for the job.

"Oppenheim, I need to get a link to Commander Shepard on the Normandy.  It should have top level security.  I don't want any record of this conversation."  He said in a low voice, after calling his assistant into the room.

"Consider it done.  I will let you know when the link is available and you can use it at your discretion."  Oppenheim said, saluting him before leaving.

It was distasteful how badly he wanted to see her, to just lay eyes upon her again.  Ever since Liara T'Soni had shown up in his office, he'd known that Shepard would come back, but he didn't realize just how much he wanted her back.  The world had been grayer, dimmer, without her.  He and Anderson had plenty of trouble trying to find allies before, when she was gone, people assumed or maybe they'd hoped, the threats she'd spoken of had died with her.

Though it made no sense, since he was wearing his cap, Hackett went to his private bathroom to comb his hair, making sure it was neatly parted and running the comb over his mustache once before returning to his office.  He wanted to be at his best before he saw her again, even if it wasn't face to face.


	8. After Aratoht

"Admiral Hackett, wait."  She'd caught his hand as he'd turned to leave the medbay of the rebuilt Normandy.  Damn Cerberus, they'd practically copied the most advanced warship in his fleet, and he had no idea how they'd done it.  Well, he had some idea, it was how these things were always done, through espionage and trickery, but he it burned him to know that their ties delved deeply into the Alliance ranks.

In the time since he'd last spoken to her, given her the assignment to get Amanda Kenson out undetected, Shepard had proven to him that she was in fact, as good as he remembered.  The Collectors were but a memory to the galaxy, and her whole team had survived their suicide mission.  Word had filtered back to him through various channels about all that she'd done, freeing slaves from the Blue Suns of Zorya, breaking into Donovan Hock's vault on Bekenstein, curing a plague in the streets of Omega.  Iladia wasn't the young woman he'd first encountered at her father's funeral, but a force to be reckoned with, altering history with her every move.

Yet, she was still just a woman, a soldier.  As impressive as she was, as honorable as he knew her to be, she looked pained as she stood in front of him, trying to get him to understand how this last mission had gone so wrong.

"I want to explain, but I can't, not here."  Iladia's dark eyes were insistent, the stark white bandage on her wrist standing out against her dark tawny skin.  She hadn't been dressed to regs when he'd come aboard, and he didn't know if that was because of her injury, or whether she'd slipped into a more casual iteration aboard her Cerberus ship.

"I don't need an explanation, Shepard.  I trust you."  Hackett reiterated, but she shook her head at him again.  There must have been something she couldn't say, but needed to, something that couldn't be put in a report.  The thought occurred to him that she might just want him around, want to talk to him again, but he had all but dismissed that hope.  Iladia hadn't made any move to rekindle their flirtation, though they'd had very limited contact since she'd come back.

"Alright."  He said.  Once he acquiesced, Shepard walked out of the medbay and led him to the elevator, lifting the two of them to her private quarters with the press of a button.

In the elevator, she brushed against him, and he didn't move in any way, neither confirming or halting her actions.  Years ago they'd been alone like this and then, as it was now, she made the first move.  He knew she was testing him, looking for a reaction, encouragement that he wasn't brave enough to give.  Luckily, she was made of something tougher, or at least, more daring than he, and took his stillness, the lack of rejection as encouragement.  In her quarters, she turned to face him, leaning against her desk, a curly tendril of hair brushing against the side of her face, begging his fingers to brush it back.  Hackett wondered if she were aware of all the signs she was projecting, her body open to his, chest raised higher, lips slightly parted.  Every bit of body language she projected, he picked up on it, and after all of their flirting, he couldn't help but respond in kind.

"I'm sorry about Dr. Kenson."  She said softly, not knowing where else to start.

"So am I.  But if she was indoctrinated, it's better that she didn't come back to Alliance space.  Who knows what paths she could have opened for the Reapers."  He was saddened by the death of his old friend, but he understood it, and as a soldier had already looked at the big picture.  If she'd managed to overwhelm and keep Shepard captive for days, she would have been a powerful tool for the Reapers.  It was a shame that such a brilliant career had come to an end they way it did.

"I did everything I could, but that Reaper artifact, Object Rho, was massive and powerful.  They had it just out in the open, a whole room built around it.  Everyone was indoctrinated.  It needed to be destroyed, as did the relay.  I regret the massive amount of batarian lives lost."  She hung her head, guilt and pain written on her features.  Hackett was no friend to the Hegemony, but this was an act of war, and even he wouldn't be able to protect her.

"I know, Shepard.  I believe you.  I always have."

Her apology was sincere, and in that moment he knew, felt powerless against the tides of fate that were pushing him towards Iladia, giving him a second chance.  He was standing in her quarters, with her and a ready excuse as to why they were alone together.  There would be no other moments like this for them, this calm before the storm, the break before open warfare.  It was that moment in the hallway replayed again, but magnified, all sound muted, the air tense between them.

Iladia's gaze was steady as she studied him, not trying to make more conversation as they descended into silence, their discourse about the mission exhausted.  Her body was too still as she sat perched on the edge of her desk, and he knew immediately why she was hesitating after inviting him up.  She wanted permission, he realized, she needed him to make a move or say something.

He chose the former, inching closer to her, and let a finger trail down the side of her face.  Smiling, he pushed the errant curl of hair back behind her ear, touching the thick locks with gentle hands.  Affection, that's all it is, he thought wildly, still trying to figure a way out if the need arouse, the soldier in him never resting, thinking through all the options, even though he was sure this was what he wanted.  But she closed her eyes at his touch, tilted her head back so he could admire her thick, dark eyelashes as his fingertips drew a line lower, down the column of her throat. Delicate touches feathered across her skin, and he felt her sigh as his finger traced along her chin.

Touching her made aches within him, that he thought long dormant wake.  It felt like breathing again, as if his chest had been encircled by tight bands that had just been removed.  He and Iladia had been doing this dance for years together, and he wanted to make it stop, to start something new between the two of them.  If he died, or if she died again, yesterday he would have had the same regrets as before, but after tonight, he hoped he might have one less.

She stood, and they were nearly touching, he could feel the heat of her body not an inch from his, and knew her heart was pounding as he was.  A hand reached out to pull off his familiar cap, setting it carefully down on her desk without sacrificing the closeness between them.  "Hackett", she murmured leaning into his chest.  


"Steven." He corrected in a low rumble, his breath hot on her ear.  


"Is it always Steven?" She asked, unsure if he shortened his name, ever.  


He quirked his mouth into something halfway between a smirk and a true grin as he replied, "It is whenever we're alone."  


She smiled against his collar, pleased at his deft wording. "Steven" she said, rolling the syllables in her mouth as if she'd never said the name before, tasting it, as she would a new wine.

"I missed you."  Hackett's voice was gruff and deep as he spoke.  "Everything was a bit dimmer without you around.  I drank that scotch, too."

Iladia looked up into his eyes, her warm brown eyes meeting the icy blue of his.  "That was your really bad occasion?"  She said, recalling the conversation from years earlier.

"I've been a soldier all my life, and seen some really awful, gruesome things happen to people.  But the whole galaxy seemed darker without you in it."

It was Iladia's turn to smile, teasing him.  "Steven, I would never have guessed that you were so poetic."

Hackett gave a small chuckle.  "Poetic?  Perhaps only with the right inspiration."

There was nothing else to say between the two of them, and Hackett leaned in, slanting his lips across hers in a kiss that started out sweet, but grew needy and breathless as it went on.  Iladia's fingers raked through his neat hair, drawing him closer as they kissed.  He pushed her back up against the desk, and she was between sitting and standing, a datapad sliding off to hit the floor with a small crash.  They ignored it, her gently biting his lower lip, making him moan as he swept his hands over the curves clad in a Cerberus uniform.  He wanted her out of that, and for her to never put it back on.

"Bed."  She gasped when they parted momentarily and Hackett reluctantly stepped back, giving her a chance to stand up.


	9. A Practiced Calm

"As the lady wishes."  Hackett replied with a chuckle, though both his voice and his laughter were shaded with the darker tones of his lust, making it sound raw and promising.  
  
Denial and need, want and heady desire raced through Hackett, tired from everything he'd tried to keep together for so long. His image, his rank, the Alliance, Earth, everything. He needed her, wanted nothing but the woman he'd tried not to think about for so long, and she was both a wonder and a curse, because with that first kiss, he knew he'd always want more.  Even with the flood of desire pulsing through him, he slowed down, taking his time.  There was no need to rush, and he quieted her harsh kisses with softer ones of his own, taking the lead.  
  
It was a slow dance between the two of them, tempered in fire, a reserved pace carefully masking the greed beneath.  Rough hands drifted down her body, making short work of her uniform, letting it drop to the floor as if were symbolic of all his doubts.  Time hadn't changed the rules but had changed him instead, and he was no longer cautious and careful, keeping his personal life from the professional had become too tedious.  He'd lost too much, and since traded his caution for the heady want that guided his kisses down Iladia's skin.    
  
Every touch had the feeling of practiced calm, and he wanted to enjoy it as he would the stillness before a thunderstorm.  He watched her beguiling smile, the tentative bite of her lower lip as he removed her bra, the sight making him go ever slower, hands caressing as they slid across her waist to push down her panties.  With his own clothes, he wouldn't have been so patient, but she began to take them off.  Her hands were familiar with the buttons of his uniform, and her actions mirrored his own slow pace as she took off his clothing.  
  
Iladia got the sense the Hackett was letting her strip his clothes off, wanting to make their experience more than just something explosive and quick.  His restraint was evident in every touch, and while she'd initiated their encounter, he was very much in command.  She obliged him, though she was as eager as he, pent up longing combining with her general sense of confusion and frustration made her nearly intoxicated with need.  Head swimming, took a deep breath and gave into the impulse to explore his unknown form, the freckles and divots all new to her.  Hands run down his muscled body, marks and scars telling stories of battles long since in the past.  The old soldier in him refused to let his physique go, though other admirals had long since dispensed with the training.  Iladia smiled against his skin, feeling the firm strength that lay underneath it, a testament to his discipline.  
  
Her lips found the tattoo on his left bicep, a reminder of the First Contact War, and she heard his breath grow shallow as she first kissed then traced the outline with her fingers.  She'd seen similar on other people, older soldiers that she'd served with, but not close up and she kissed the faded ink once more before her fingers went onward, scouting out elsewhere, charting a new path for her mouth.  
  
When her fingers ventured downward, skirting over his hardened length with the merest brush, he groaned, moving away from the touch.  
  
"Didn't you say something about bed?"  He asked breathlessly, and Iladia smiled wickedly, wrapping her hands around him and kissing the head of his cock once before she directed him over to the large bed.  Tripping through the sea of clothing, he let himself be led, the two of them clasping hands as if they were old lovers walking with an inconsequential destination.  
  
He had a greedy need to make her call out in unbridled ecstasy, to have her remember him.  After all their years of flirtation, he didn't think she would forget precisely, but rather he wanted to make anyone else in her past less than memory.  Before he could act on his desires, she took the lead again.  Her hands resumed where she'd left off, stroking his length, but now she sat on the bed, bending towards him with a mischievous look as Hackett closed his eyes.  She slid her tongue up and down the shaft, and he gave a full-bodied shudder in response, encouraging her further.  
  
The heat of her mouth was almost too intense, but so welcome.  Effortlessly, he matched her rhythm, hips gently thrusting in time to the hands that were wrapped around him, a low moan escaping him as she sucked.  Hackett felt her gentle hum, causing another wave of pleasure to ripple through his body.  There was nothing he would have liked more than to let her work to a satisfying conclusion, but he had other plans for this long awaited moment, and none of them including ending so soon.  
  
"Not yet."  Hackett said through gritted teeth.  It took a supreme effort not to come in her mouth, but he pulled away, nearly dizzy at the effort.  
  
Breathing deeply, he changed his focus towards Iladia, sprawled on the white sheets, waiting for him.  There was a beauty in her wildness, the glassy, consumed, lusty look in her eyes, the curls of her hair coming loose, tendrils framing her face.  Hackett  took only a moment more to admire the flush of her skin before crawling into the bed with her, hands and lips skimming over her contours, feathering kisses over faint, new scars and taut skin.  
  
While he'd been turned on by Iladia's eager need to please him, he was, even when stripped down, a leader.  His mouth was dominant when they kissed, he nipped at her lip, ever so slightly reminding her that he was in charge.  The kisses were patient and practiced, insistent without rushing.  Laying next to her, his tongue slid past her lips to meet her own, his hands buried in her thick tresses, gently tugging the restraint away.  
  
It was an indeterminate amount of time later, perhaps an hour, or maybe just minutes, when his mouth slid to her jaw and down her neck, languidly making a trail.  Hackett pressed her back into the sheets, his hands giving the wordless order that she obeyed without comment.  He kissed her collarbone, lazily moving downward, tongue tasting the skin of the valley of her breasts before he touched them, blue eyes watching the ends tighten with anticipation.  He was ready, growing more needy with each touch, but he kept his slow pace, swirling his tongue over the crowns of her breasts, letting his fingers drift lightly over her stomach and thighs.  
  
Soft moans came from her, a sweet distraction from his own desires, and Hackett focused himself on her.  The musky scent of her wet sex coiled tendrils into his nose as he kissed the rise of her stomach, and he finally dipped his fingers into her core, careful to keep his touch light.  The groan that rippled through her was enough to almost undo him, and he gave in, painting her lower abdomen with kisses as he moved downward.  
  
It was like a jolt of lightning when his tongue swept lightly over her clit, the hard nub ready, reacting to the slightest touch.  Iladia bucked wildly underneath him, her hips grinding into his face, trying to hasten her own release.  Though he knew she couldn't see it, Hackett smiled as if chastising her, and decided that she needed a little more teasing.  Moving away, he licked the entirely of her slit, from bottom to top, relishing the wanton whimper he drew from her with the action.  Again and again he did it, until her fists pounded the mattress in impotent frustration, and he could feel her wetness in his mustache, covering his face.  
  
Making her come was easy after all of his teasing.  With a few swipes of his tongue, his fingers parting her folds and pushing inside, he felt Iladia begin to crumble.  Her hips jerked, bumping into his jaw, her belly quaked with the precursor of the tremors that soon overtook her.  Fists grasped handfulls of his hair, holding his head as she arced up into him, filling her quarters with the cries of pleasure.  The soft interior of her thighs pressed against his cheeks as he sucked on her clit, muffling the sounds of her climax to his ears.  
  
Iladia was still breathless when he came up for a kiss, her face softer with her eyes closed, embracing him with arms looped loosely around his neck when they kissed.


	10. Promises to Keep

Abandoning his pretense of languidness, Hackett roused her with hungry, biting nips across her jaw and shoulders.  He was more than ready when he positioned himself at her entrance, sliding into her with a moan.  Wet heat enveloped him, constricting tightly around him as she grew accustomed to him.  She was absolute heaven, grasping and electric around his length as he carefully eased in.  He felt her shift beneath him, angling her hips, taking him deeper.  He was above her, looking down at her as he slid in and out, watching her delicious tightness take in every inch of him.  Without realizing it, he'd clenched his jaw to help maintain control, only aware once the muscles began to ache.  
  
Their pace was a stark contrast to their earlier patient restraint.  Someplace in his mind, he wanted to whisper her name and run a finger tenderly down her face, but this wasn't the time.  Rushing filled his ears and he pushed deeper into her, rolling his hips, giving a few shallow, faster thrusts before delving harder again, making her gasp.  Leaning down, he bit her jaw and shoulder, feral in his need to claim her as he kept up his rhythm.  It was relentless, and he could feel her shaking again, ready to climax from the friction.  He pressed a thumb to her clit, but didn't bother to circle, couldn't spare the effort as he sped up.   
  
Squeezing his eyes closed, Hackett felt the welcome heat building within him.  It was spurred on by her hands gripping at him, fingernails scraping over his skin as Iladia's hips matched his movements.  Their combined motion and the pressure of his thumb had her coming again, and as she clenched desperately around him, he couldn't stop his own end.  With a deep growl, he gave the savage thrust that pushed him over, closing his eyes to revel in the sensation.  
  
A few lazier strokes worked him through the orgasm and Hackett gave her a tender kiss before laying back against the bed.  Colored lights still swam before his eyes and he had no desire to chase the languor away, letting it cover him completely.  Iladia curled into him, their warm forms stuck together with sweat, though neither moved away.  Their combined panting was the only sound between them, the light of her fish tank the only glow in the room.

She sat up against her headboard some time later, resting as if it were the most natural thing in the world for her to be comfortable in the nude with him.  Hackett liked that, liked the way she made no move to cover her breasts or any indication towards self-consciousness.  Instead she sat back and looked content, pleased, almost happy.  In all the years they'd been acquainted, he hadn't known either of them to be really happy.  They'd had accomplishments and awards, losses and defeats, but through it all, neither of them had seemed truly happy.  

Until now.

"I have a house on Eden Prime."  Iladia started.  "A cottage, of sorts.  It's a little big to be a traditional cottage."

"You have a house?"  He asked, surprised that the spacer brat had given any thought to a home anywhere other than amongst the stars.

"Yes, well I bought it after the geth attack.  They needed capital and I thought it would help them recover.  I have quite a bit of land there."

"So this was a good deed house?"

"I occasionally do good deeds, yes.  I bought shares in the colony on Feros too, and those have paid off quite nicely.  It takes a lot of credits to get the best weapons."

"So I've heard."  Hackett said darkly, thinking of people other than Iladia.

"Anyway,"  she pushed on.  "I've only been once.  My kitchen looks out over endless green pastures, rolling hills with Prothean ruins in the distance.  It's pretty big, so far as kitchens in cottages go, and there's a garden that's probably completely overgrown with wildflowers and some primrose I think."

"Are you trying to get me to visit?"

"Yes.  If one day in the future you had the chance."  She said directly, meeting his gaze.  "You look like you can make a good breakfast, and I've got a perfect kitchen.  So what do you say?"

Steven smiled vaguely at her, considering what she was asking in her roundabout way.  Was this to be just the one time, the culmination of their years of flirtation, or would it become something more serious?  She was leaving it up to him, though he wasn't quite sure why, she'd proven time and again that she was the one that led.

"I have been known to make a decent meal from time to time.  Eden Prime's all farmers, so I expect we can get the best stuff fresh."  Hackett acted along, as if he were planning a trip that they'd likely never take.  It wasn't the trip that was important, what planning a trip together, anything in the future, implied.

"That would be perfect."  She purred, taking his face in both of her hands and kissing him.

Though they hardly had any time before he needed to go, get back to a life that seemed infinitely less interesting than spending time with her, he kissed her back down to the mattress, promising he would take her to Eden Prime.  Together in whispers and laughter, they planned their trip down to the last meal, him making her climax once more courtesy of his tongue, to seal the deal.  It was only when he left her that his hands began to shake, and he worried about what they'd started, of the time he'd pledged to her.  There was something, not quite regret but rather the thought of not being able to fulfill that promise that unsettled him.


	11. Epilogue

She didn't get special treatment once she made her way back to Earth.  Her Alliance cell was nothing out of the oridinary, but she had few visitors that would have noticed if it were.  Anderson visited regularly, and she spent her time reading and exercising, talking to the young Lieutenant Vega who was in charge of her security.  Nothing indicated a relationship between Iladia and Hackett, not a hint of impropriety, and there were days when even she wondered if she'd dreamt it all.  Aside from a few messages back when she had the Normandy, she hadn't heard from him and didn't expect to, not while she was under lock up.  Even if she'd wanted him to do something, there was really nothing to be done, her crime had no precedent but she assumed her punishment would.  

Her mail was blocked for the duration of her stay, as indefinite as it was, but her omnitool flashed just before she had Joker set the course back to Earth.

_When this is all over, I'll meet you on Eden Prime.  I believe I owe you some breakfast.  Love, S._

The whole message was so sweet, so unexpectedly normal, as if they were simply lovers parted by circumstance that it made her smile whenever she thought of it.  During the difficult, lonely nights, which were in abundance, she looked ahead, planning out an elaborate meal for the two of them.  Her practical side said they'd never make it to her house on Eden Prime, but she always shouted it down, preferring to live, while she could, with hope for a happy ending.


End file.
